


Pick You Up

by Becci Barnes (BeccEEE)



Series: STB Bingo 2020 [9]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Best Friends, Bucky Barnes Is a Good Bro, Can be read as gen, Cuddling & Snuggling, Gen, M/M, Or Maybe More, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes, Sickfic, Sickness, Skinny Steve, can be read as shippy, stomach flu, taking care, vomiting (implied)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:34:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29971929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeccEEE/pseuds/Becci%20Barnes
Summary: On his 21st birthday, Bucky is all dressed up and ready to party. He invited two ladies to spend the night with him and Steve at the ongoing borough festival in Brooklyn. But when Bucky knocks on Steve's door to pick him up, an unfortunate coincidence and Steve's bad immune system interferes with their plans.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: STB Bingo 2020 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2039457
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30
Collections: Bucky Barnes Bingo 2021, STB Bingo: Round One





	Pick You Up

**Author's Note:**

> ✍🏻 Fill number nine for the Steve-Tony-Bucky-Bingo on Tumblr: [@stb-bingo](https://stb-bingo.tumblr.com/)  
> 💡 Prompt: Stomach Flu
> 
> ✍🏻 Fill number one for the Bucky-Barnes-Bingo on Tumblr: [@buckybarnesbingo](https://buckybarnesbingo.tumblr.com/)  
> 💡 Prompt: Sick Fic
> 
> 🎁 A little late to the party but it is still March 10th somewhere in the world, so **Happy Birthday Bucky**!

Bucky's steps were a little lighter than usual as he walked down the familiar street towards Steve’s flat. Whenever he passed a parked car, he couldn't help looking at his reflection in the windows. His hair was particularly well in place today and the brand new dark blue three-piece suit was his pride and joy. It had been sinfully expensive, but Bucky had put some of his hard-earned money aside for it the entire past year. And for his birthday, he had wanted to treat himself to something. He wished to look immaculate when they met up with Connie and her friend at the borough festival later.

The steps of the narrow wooden staircase leading up to the flat doors of number 35 squeaked softly when Bucky stepped on them. He skipped the fourth step from the top because it was rotten and headed straight for flat 35D. The low evening sun cast a golden light on the reddish bricks of the building and the door, whose paint was peeling. When Bucky raised his hand to knock, a little more paint crumbled to the floor.

But no one opened the door. Bucky waited a moment, listening for footsteps or movements on the other side. But he couldn't hear anything. He frowned. Steve knew they were meeting and that Bucky was coming to pick him up. Maybe he hadn't heard him? Sometimes when Steve was absorbed in something, he would forget his surroundings. Bucky knocked again and waited, but again he got no answer.

"Steve?" he said, loud enough for it to get through the thin door and inside, but nothing. His frown deepened and he stepped to the side. Careful not to get his freshly polished shoes dirty, he pushed aside the loose stone beside the door and reached down for the key that appeared underneath.

Once more Bucky knocked and listened, but when again nothing happened, he slipped the key into the lock. The door to Steve's flat squeaked as it swung open inwards and Bucky entered without hesitation.

"Steve?" he asked again as he closed the front door behind him. It wasn't until it fell shut, blocking the golden light from outside, that Bucky noticed how dark it was in the living room he was now standing in. The lights were turned off, all the curtains drawn and there wasn't even a candle burning. Bucky's first guess was that Steve had already left without him, but he immediately dismissed the thought. Firstly, Steve wouldn't just stand him up without a word and secondly, Bucky saw Steve's only pair of shoes by the door. He was definitely home, even if the gloomy room suggested otherwise.

Bucky sighed and crossed the living room, heading straight for Steve's bedroom.

"Steve, I told you not to get anxious over your clothes," he said. It was a shot in the dark, but when Steve shirked a date, he was usually anxious about something. "It's not like we're going to a prom."

Granted, that was easy to say when wearing a $100 three-piece, but Bucky chose to ignore the double standard in his statement. It was his birthday. He had every right in the world to be the best-dressed man at the festival.

"No one will judge you for your outfit. But they will judge us if we're late, so we better get going." He stuck his head through Steve's open bedroom door, but the bedroom was dark too. The frown came back. He had fully expected Steve to be sitting depressed between a light grey and a dark grey shirt, or looking critically at himself in the mirror. But obviously, Steve was not in his bedroom either. None of his shirts was lying on the chair or the bed or had been hung over the wardrobe door. The only apparent thing was the unmade bed. Bucky's eyes narrowed. Although housework, like everything else, exhausted Steve quickly, he did as much as he could. And sometimes more. He had a tremendous aversion to his flat looking unkempt. "I'm poor, not messy," he used to say and Bucky had stopped arguing with him about it. Even on the days when Steve could barely make it from his bed to the sofa without an asthma attack, he never left his bed unmade. But the blanket, on which Bucky now looked down at, was flipped and crumpled as if Steve had left his bed in a hurry.

"Steve?" Bucky called into the flat again. His initial confusion had turned into genuine concern. Again he got no answer, but a noise he couldn't quite identify made him turn around.

On the other side of the narrow hallway, directly opposite Steve's bedroom door, was the door leading to the bathroom. It was only ajar and a thin strip of light shone behind it. Cautiously, Bucky pushed the door open and peered into the small tiled room.

The lone bulb without a lamp hanging from the ceiling provided weak light, illuminating the tarnished bathtub and the small mirror above the dripping sink. But Bucky's eyes immediately fell on the skinny figure sitting on the floor in front of the toilet. Steve's thin arms lay on the edge of the toilet seat and his head rested on his upper arm. He had his eyes closed, but Bucky couldn't imagine that the position was comfortable enough to sleep.

With two steps, Bucky had crossed the small bathroom and squatted down beside Steve. "Hey," he said, gently stroking Steve's back with his hand. He felt his spine protruding more than usual from the hunched posture and the grey T-shirt was damp with cold sweat.

Steve's eyelids fluttered as he lifted them and tried to focus on Bucky beside him. "Buck?" he mumbled. "Whaddaya doinere?"

"What are  _ you  _ doing here?" Bucky returned the question.

"I'm..." Steve started, "I'm..." He swallowed hard, took a deep breath and mumbled, "Stomach flu."

"Nasty," was all Bucky said and continued stroking Steve's back. "How long have you been sitting here?"

Steve's words were muffled by his arm, on which he still rested his head. The only thing that got through to Bucky was, "long," which didn't surprise him. Stomach flu was a nasty bitch even when you were generally healthy. And Steve definitely was not.

"Did you drink enough?" he asked. Bucky was no expert in house remedies like Steve's mum had been, but after fourteen years of friendship with Steve, he had learned a thing or two. One of them was that it was important to stay hydrated. And that Steve tended to forget that.

Steve's head twitched on his arm, he didn't seem capable of a real shake of the head.

"I'll get you some water." It wasn't a question.

Bucky stood back up and immediately Steve's eyes closed again. On the small board above the sink, Bucky found a tumbler, which he thoroughly rinsed twice and finally filled with fresh water. Then he settled back down beside Steve on the olive green tiles. 

"Come on, Stevie, drink," Bucky said when Steve didn't react to him holding the tumbler out. Not caring in the least about his new trousers, Bucky shifted towards Steve's back. He wrapped his free arm around Steve's chest from behind and slowly pulled him closer. Steve offered no resistance as his arms fell from the toilet seat and he ended up with his back resting against Bucky's chest, held reasonably upright by a strong arm around his torso.

"And now, please drink," Bucky tried again, "Or I will call an ambulance."

Even in the miserable condition Steve was in, the threat of being hospitalised had its effect, as usual. Steve could be on the verge of death, he would still prefer not to cause inconvenience to anyone. Not even to doctors who literally got paid to handle said inconveniences. No, Steve hated hospitals. And that was why he was now drinking in small sips from the tumbler Bucky held to his lips. It was baby sips, and Steve had to pause now and then, but finally, he drained it to the last drop.

Bucky set the tumbler down on the floor beside him and Steve's head slumped limply forwards. He seemed to be so exhausted that he was on the edge of fainting. Not surprising if he, skinny as he was, couldn't keep any food down. "You can't stay here, pal," Bucky whispered in his ear as Steve’s head twitched again. Bucky feared he might fall asleep right here in his arms, which wasn't a problem per se but still uncomfortable.

"M'good," Steve mumbled against Bucky's arm around his chest.

"No, you're not," Bucky said gently but firmly. "I'll get you to bed, okay?"

"I'll ruin the carpet." Steve's head swung sluggishly from left to right and Bucky suspected it was supposed to be a shake of the head.

"No you won't," Bucky said, pointing to the sturdy brass bucket under the sink. "See, we'll take this with us. You won't even have to get up then."

"Is for housework," Steve muttered in a feeble attempt to protest.

"I know, I'll clean it afterwards, stop digging for excuses, Steve."

Steve said nothing and Bucky took that as silent agreement. He shifted his weight and lifted Steve effortlessly into his arms.

"Ican walk," Steve said as Bucky left the bathroom with him and crossed the narrow hallway.

"Sure you can," Bucky replied. But he kept Steve securely in his arms and Steve was too weak to resist. He only pressed his cheek a little tighter against Bucky's shoulder. Feverish warmth emanated from him, which did not surprise Bucky. Steve's body had fired up all its defences to rid him of the virus he had caught.

Bucky carried him over to the bedroom and gently laid him down on the mattress. He spread the blanket over Steve, slipped a second pillow under his head and went back once more to fetch the bucket.

"See," he said, placing it right next to Steve in front of the bed. "No running to the toilet, no ruined carpet. More rest for you."

"Mhmm," Steve made and it sounded like appreciation. He had his eyes closed again, but his shallow breathing told he was awake. For a moment Bucky's gaze rested on his friend's face, which was even paler than it normally was. Then he looked at the clock on the bedside table next to him. If Bucky left now, he would still be in time to meet Connie and her friend at the borough festival and to join the little birthday party they had planned for him. He didn’t think twice. 

Bucky took off his new suit jacket and took a moment to smooth out the wrinkles that had formed in it when he had been sitting on the floor. Then he carefully hung it over a chair before taking off his shoes and waistcoat as well and walked around the bed to the side without the bucket. He crawled under the blanket next to Steve, who was still radiating feverish warmth.

"You're allowed to cuddle if you don't puke on me," Bucky said as he stretched an arm out behind Steve's head. "The shirt is new."

"Can't promise," Steve said, sliding his head closer to Bucky's shoulder. Bucky chuckled a little.

"M'sorry," Steve mumbled into Bucky's shirt. "Ruinin' your birthday an' your date."

"Naah," Bucky said, brushing a strand of blond hair away from Steve's forehead. "I'd rather be here in your bed than on the festival without you."

The look that met Bucky was lacking some vigour, but Steve still managed to look surprised. "You'd choose  _ me  _ over your ladies?"

"How high is your fever, Stevie?" Bucky asked, pressing a kiss to Steve's blazing hot forehead. "I will always choose you over the ladies and you know that."

"Just wanted t'make sure," Steve said and snuggled a little closer to Bucky's chest.

"Go to sleep, punk," Bucky said.

It didn't take five minutes for Steve's breaths to become deep and regular. Bucky ran his fingers through the blonde hair, lost in thought. Yes, he had imagined his birthday differently, after all, one didn't turn 21 every day. But they could make up for that when Steve was feeling better again. And he meant what he had said. Bucky would choose Steve over every festival and all the ladies every time, every day. Even or rather  _ especially  _ on his birthday.

**Author's Note:**

> ❤ Thank you for reading!  
> 💬 Leave me a comment, I am excited to hear your opinion.  
> ✨I like to reply to every comment but don't feel pressured, I don't expect another reply from you.  
> 🌈 And please share the story on [Tumblr](https://tales-and-thoughts.tumblr.com/post/645327284573700096/pick-you-up-ao3), if you liked it. That helps me and my motivation a lot.


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